


Sweatpants vs Designer Clothes

by IetjeSiobhan



Category: One Direction
Genre: I have no idea about designing, I have too much free time, I just want Louis in fitted clothes, M/M, Mutual Pining, all I know stems from project runway, also Ziam are idiots, but they love each other - Freeform, designer!Harry, dumb boys in love, i'm so sorry in advance, one direction come back, please, pop star!Louis, the tracksuits haunt me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-24 00:51:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16170215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IetjeSiobhan/pseuds/IetjeSiobhan
Summary: AU where Harry is a fashion designer and Louis is the pop star that only ever wears tracksuits, but falls in love with Harry’s cute instagram stories and makes him his designer for his next tour to get close to him, despite not liking Harry's outfits at all.Feat Ziam as Lou's best friends and Niall as Harry's best friend.





	Sweatpants vs Designer Clothes

**Author's Note:**

> If I have to see Louis is in one more tracksuit I’m gonna have an aneurysm. I can’t take it anymore. This is the sole reason this (very self indulgent) fic happened. Because I need Louis in proper clothes and I know I’m not the only one. We’re all thinking it.  
> Anyways!!! A big thank you to Kitty — if it weren’t for her, this would probably have never happened because I’d have gotten a complete breakdown and stopped writing halfway throughout the first sex scene. Kitty was kind of my inofficial beta reader, full time supporter and the angel on my shoulder throughout all of this. Thank you so much for putting up with my shit and hyping me up at eleven in the evening. Also a huge thank you to all of my Twitter mutuals for reminding me they believe in me finishing this thing — it’s not long, but it’s gotten quite a bit longer than I expected, so there’s that. This was originally supposed to be 7k but... Eh.  
> And thank you to Bon Jovi and Guns’N’Roses for having the right song for every occasion.
> 
> Of course I don’t own the boys or don’t claim to even know them and all that jazz. Have fun!

  

It's three o'clock in the morning when Louis's phone rings, which is in itself a horrible travesty and can only mean one thing: either Zayn or Liam, his two best friends, has done something terribly stupid. Or they're just drunk off their asses. Because the thing is, Louis is an absolutely overworked pop star and he needs his sleep like nothing else and they _know_ that and would never be so dumb as to rid him of his sleep — they know the only thing it gets them is a grumpy Louis who is pure horror to work with — if it weren't important or they weren't drunk.

One look onto his phone display confirms Louis's suspicions. It's Zayn.

“Oh my god Zayn, I hope it’s important or you're fired,” grumbles Louis. “As my stylist _and_ as my best friend.”

“It is,” Zayn says, and from the way his words are slurred and his voice sounds slightly panicked, it's apparently really important and he's drunk. Fuck Louis’s life, honestly.

“What did you do?” Louis asks, and he was kind of sure his grumpiness couldn’t increase but it just did, great. He considers turning on the lights because it sounds like this could be the kind of conversation to take rather long, but then he’d have to get up and he’s absolutely not doing that. It's 3:24 in the fucking morning and he's _tired_.

Zayn slurs something Louis can’t really make out, but it sounds suspiciously like — “ _Please_ tell me I didn't hear that right,” Louis says, sitting up hastily and feeling very awake all of a sudden.

“I got Liam’s name tattooed,” Zayn repeats, slower and still sounding very panicked. Justifiedly so. Louis refrains from hitting his head against the headboard of his bed, but it takes up all the willpower he has. Oh, this is bad. So very, very bad.

“ _Why_?!” he says, and he’s trying to stay calm but his voice betrays him and it comes out very much hissed. Zayn and Liam have been tip-toeing around each other since they first met, and a week ago Liam finally, _finally_ found the courage to ask Zayn out, after years of pining. They just had their first date two days ago! Liam’s going to freak out when he finds out and Louis is the one who’ll have to deal with it affecting his personal life and his work space. Just _great_. He had all his money on Zayn and Liam’s relationship outlasting the universe but that won’t happen if Zayn keeps behaving absolutely bonkers.

“Just felt right,” Zayn says, and Louis wants to hit him. He groans.

“You know what? I don’t have the energy to deal with your shit right now. We’ll talk about this tomorrow. Just don’t. Tell. Liam,” he says and hangs up. He should have just become a drama teacher instead of a famous singer, he has an inkling that includes way less drama. Or at least he hopes it does. If a common drama teacher has to deal with just half the shit Louis’s life keeps bringing up, then they’re all doomed and can just give up trying to exist peacefully.

He angrily puts his phone back onto the nightstand and buries himself in his blankets, but isn’t able to fall asleep again. Instead, Zayn’s actions haunt his thoughts. And maybe, just maybe, the thought that his own love life is so incredibly empty. Louis hasn’t dated anyone in the five years since he published his first album which immediately climbed the charts and secured him a lovely, if a bit stressful and crazy fan base. To be completely honest: he never had a real relationship. Yes, there was that fling with Hannah back in high school, but all that happened in it was a bit of making out and Louis realising that he really, _really_ wasn’t into girls. Since then? Absolutely nothing, except for some drunk hook-ups he doesn’t even really remember.

There are always some rumours going around about him and several women, and quite some part of his fan base is utterly convinced that he had a romantic involvement with Eleanor, his pr manager, at some point, but that’s all it is: rumours. He really is truly and utterly gay. And Eleanor has been married to her high school sweetheart, a quite lovely girl called Zara with wide grey eyes and hair she dyes a different colour every month, for three years now. Louis even went to the wedding, even if his and Eleanor’s relationship is quite bumpy, just because Zara actually likes him and he likes her and she absolutely insisted.

So: his love life is truly dead. The most excitement he’s gotten in the last few years has been watching Liam and Zayn tip-toeing around each other. Zayn and he went to school together, they’ve known each other since Louis was a wee one. Zayn always wanted to be either an artist or a well-known star stylist, so when Louis signed his first contract the one thing he was absolutely set on was having Zayn as his stylist. Liam is the head of Louis’s security, and when they first bumped into each other Louis swears he saw actual hearts manifest in Zayn’s eyes. He lost his abilities to speak for a whole five minutes, which wasn’t that bad since Zayn isn’t known to be the most talkative guy on the best of days. Louis and Danielle Peazer, his choreographer and part of his dancing crew, who turned out to have been a childhood friend of Liam’s, pretty much made a bet on Zayn and Liam three days afterwards. She won. But really, who would have guessed it’d take them over _five fucking years_ to get their shit together? Not Louis, that’s who.

The only person Louis has really had a crush on since he became the pop star people actually read articles about in trashy magazines is Harry Styles.

Harry Styles, fashion designer and the most beautiful man on earth, caught Louis’s eyes three and a half years ago during Eleanor’s and Zara’s wedding planning. Apparently Zara’s cousin had went to college with Harry’s sister and therefore he got highly recommended to her and El. Louis has never actually met the guy, mind you, but he’s been stalking the guy’s Instagram, Twitter _and_ Tumblr, since Eleanor came up to him and asked him if he’d ever heard of him. Of course Louis hadn’t, he was known for going everywhere in fucking track suits after all and that didn’t exactly make him the kind of guy to have an interest in _fashion_ , but Zayn had, and he got Louis to check out Harry’s insta. Louis hasn’t been the same since he watched the guy’s first Instagram story because Harry is fucking _gorgeous_. He’s also super sweet and kind and makes the worst puns on earth.

  
Louis sighs. Way to go, getting distracted by thoughts of Harry at half past three in the fucking morning. It’s not like he’s ever actually going to talk to that guy. He could — Zayn has offered to take Louis to some weird fashion event where Harry would make a guaranteed appearance and introduce them more than once —, but Louis is not half as tough as he looks and frankly, he’s a bit scared he’s gonna completely embarrass himself. He’s most probably not Harry’s type anyways.

That’s when his phone decides to make a loud ping noise. He looks at the screen. By now it’s nearly four a.m and he’s just gotten a new Instagram notification: _@Harry_Styles has posted a story_.

He unlocks his phone right away. Harry is definitely one of the more important things in life.

In his Instagram story, it’s just Harry’s face, grinning with his dimples on full display, talking in his beautiful, deep, slow, and absolutely sinful voice. “ _Heeeyyyyy! I’m currently packing up, because I’m meeting some friends in London in two days! And I thought, why not do something fuuun! Instead of me picking my outfits, you send me outfit suggestions under the hashtag #WearThisHarry!”_ At that point the video gets cut off, but the next story video immediately starts: “ _You can suggest whatever you want, as long as it includes rainbows,”_ he giggles adorably, “ _because gay is yay! I will wear one of the three outfits with the most likes, no matter what it is, to that get-together! It’s all fashion industry fans so that should be fun!”_

Louis shakes his head slightly, not being able to keep his grin off his face. God, that man is ridiculous and also the cutest and most beautiful person Louis has ever seen. And he’s gonna be in London! Not only in the same country, but also in the same city as Louis! And he said ‘gay is yay’. It makes Louis’s heart beat faster. Harry hasn’t ever said he’s gay, or bi, or pan, or anything, but there have been hints at him not being straight, Louis thinks. The thing is: he doesn’t know. He has a crush on a fashion designer he has no intentions of actually meeting and doesn’t even know if the guy is gay.

He should probably just stop thinking about Harry and get some sleep. He has a meeting about his upcoming tour tomorrow after all, and also an appearance in some weird show he’s never even heard of scheduled for the next evening. It’s only three months left until he starts touring, and that might sound like a lot but is actually a crazy small amount of time considering how much work is still left to be done.

 

  
He wakes up with a pounding headache and the overbearing wish to destroy his phone which is responsible for the alarm waking him. He doesn’t even know why his head hurts. Probably because he didn’t get that much sleep, or maybe it’s an upcoming burst of migraine. He really hopes it’s the former. The meeting with his management is scheduled for ten o’clock, and he’s supposed to meet up with Zayn for breakfast at half nine. He really, really hopes Zayn looks worse than him, the fucker, but with how he called him at three in the fucking morning and sounded quite drunk, that’s very likely. He has no idea why Zayn even got smashed in the first place, anyway.

 

Louis arrives at their favourite café _nearly_ on time. He’s only fifteen minutes late, and for him that’s very good, actually. Especially considering Zayn truly hasn’t mastered the art of being on time yet either.

He loves the little café; it’s tiny and comfy and smells like coffee and cinnamon, the benches faded blue leather, the whole interior looking a bit faded out and antique. There’s black and white pictures of 80’s concerts on the walls and faded old tour posters for Led Zeppelin and Guns’N’Roses. There’s also always some rock music from the 70’s or 80’s playing in the background, and Louis knows every single barista here by name. The main reason he likes the café though is because it’s incredibly unknown, and usually Zayn and him are the only customers, except for the old lady book club who comes there twice a week, and Jason, the over-worked student who falls asleep on top of his notes every time. He’s in his late twenties and seems to have been studying for at least the entire duration of Louis’s music career already.

Fact is: the only reason the café hasn’t had to close yet even though it’s not being overrun by hipsters are Louis’s monthly donations he started two years prior. And: nobody here recognises him, except for Jason and the staff, and Jason’s too exhausted and disinterested to spread the word and the staff would never, so he can come here without being ambushed by fans. It’s nice.

When Louis arrives and slides into their usual bench, Zayn is already there, head laying on the table, snoring quietly. He’s got two steaming hot mugs of coffee in front of him, and one of them is half empty. Seems like the caffeine hasn’t kicked in yet. Zayn, who’s usually dressed casually chic, didn’t even find the motivation to put on his usual skinny jeans today it seams, instead sporting sweat pants and an oversized sweater Louis is 99% sure belongs to Liam. His hair, a bit longer and dyed pink at the moment, is an absolute mess. Somehow, he still manages to look gorgeous. Louis really would love to have his genetics, it’s just not fair.

“Wake up, fucker!” he says and nudges Zayn in the side. Not very gently maybe, but Zayn waking him at _three in the fucking morning_ wasn’t gentle either and Louis is still holding a grudge.

“I hate you, mate,” Zayn grumbles but lifts his head, throwing Louis a not very impressed look. He’s got deep shadows under his eyes and his hair is covering half of his forehead, the other part sticking up in a thoroughly disheveled way.

“Oi, shut up,” Louis says, and then, after grabbing his coffee and taking a big sip, he adds: “So you got Liam’s name tattooed yesterday, wanna elaborate on how the fuck that happened? Anything else I should know about?”

“Yeah, actually,” Zayn says, looking really uncomfortable all of a sudden, “There is something you should know.”

“Spill,” Louis says, and adds, after taking in Zayn’s rough movements: “Not your coffee, though.”

“Very funny,” Zayn mumbles, lifting his coffee with his right hand to his mouth whilst destroying his hair further with his left, “Okay, so you know how you wear nothing ever but track suits and sometimes proper suits when it’s a _really_ formal event? And how I’ve been wanting to get you to wear something else for ages? And how you _never_ shut up about Styles?”

“Oi! Not true!” Louis says and smacks Zayn’s shoulder for good measure. He has a bad feeling, with the way his best friend islooking so incredibly guilty and running his fingers through his hair and avoiding his gaze, instead searching comfort in his coffee (even though that could be caused by his apparent hangover as well). And because Zayn just mentioned Louis’s fashion choices and Harry Styles in one sentence.

“Anyway... I might have drunk called him and asked him if he’d be up to design a few outfits for your upcoming tour, and he said he’d love to, and I told him I’d definitely get back to him about it. Louis, will you murder me if you have to wear at least one Harry Styles outfit on stage?”

Louis doesn’t even answer. His heart has sunk into his stomach. He can’t wear something by _Harry fucking Styles!_ Styles is all ruffles and flowers and elaborate designs and high fashion and rainbows and maybe-gayness. Louis is a closeted singer known for track suits. God, he doesn’t even _like_ the stuff Harry designs! The only person Harry’s outfits look cute on is Harry! _And_ Harry designing an outfit for him would also mean being fitted into it by him which would mean _contact_ and Louis is not sure he can survive that.

But the thing is: he also can’t just say no, let make Zayn make a call and tell Harry Louis doesn’t want his designs. Harry’s an upcoming designer; since he worked for Zai and El three years ago he’s gotten a bit more of a following and he even worked together with Gucci once this year, but he doesn’t get a lot of jobs and he’s mentioned his insecurities several times. If someone like Louis, who’s name actually means something, tells him through Zayn, who’s name actually means something in the fashion world, he doesn’t want his work after all, that could have a fatal effect on Harry’s self esteem and Louis truly doesn’t want to hurt him like that. God, he’s so fucked.

“I’m not gonna murder you,” he tells Zayn, who looks relieved immediately, “I’m gonna fucking torture you. I’m gonna make you die in the most unpleasant way ever, you traitor. The only reason I’m not storming out on you right the fuck now is that you’ve got your own shit to deal with, with the damn tattoo of Liam’s name. Also because I still haven’t had breakfast and really wanna finish my coffee.”

Zayn’s facial expression turns into one of horror and extreme regret.

 

  
It takes Louis two days to get over his anger at Zayn. Coincidentally, that’s also the time it takes for Liam to find out that Zayn got his name tattooed right along his left ankle. (“Because he keeps me going” — “That’s simultaneously the sweetest and dumbest thing I’ve ever heard in my entire life”)

Liam reacts ... well, shocked. He spends half an hour telling Zayn he made a mistake and being as overwhelmed and scared as if he had put Zayn’s name on his body. Then he spends half an hour lamenting over the fact that he actually fell for someone like Zayn, and how do they even _fit_ together. Then he decides that the fact drunk Zayn was so overwhelmed by his feelings for Liam he got his name tattooed is actually quite adorable and for some reason it seems to turn him on, so he drags Zayn off to a broom closet. Louis shakes his head and leaves them be, even though Liam as his body guard should technically either be at his side or request someone else to be at Louis’s side.

It’s not like Louis ever had much respect for his personal safety anyways.

 

  
It takes Louis another two days to finally make a call to his management and tell them he wants Harry Styles as his designer for the upcoming tour. And he better do either half or all of Louis’s outfits because having one or two Styles-esque outfits and appearing for the rest of his shows in his track suits would just make it all even weirder.

They call him a day later; Harry apparently said the job was _very short notice_ for such a big job but he’s taken it. Louis will wear something either Harry Styles did on his own or Harry Styles did in collaboration with other labels at every show of his tour. All thirty-four of them. Harry will also be travelling with them to make sure everything fits just perfect and to be able to make last minute changes and have Louis’s input.

So in short: He will be Louis’s death. No matter that Louis doesn’t think there’s just one way in hell he could look good in _anything_ Harry designed because it’s just all that extra. But well. If the only thing people will remember from this tour is going to be Louis in strange outfits, he can at least blame it on Zayn, who seems way too smug about the progression of things.

 

  
“ _Hiiii! So you all knew I was in London but I have some very exciting news: I’ll be designing outfits for Louis Tomlinson! I’m not telling you for which occasion but I can’t wait to do it! That said, because of your requests I’ll be doing a meet-up for young designers, swipe up to find out more!_ ”

Harry looks stunning in his Instagram story. Of course he does. He has his curls in a cute braid, is wearing red lipstick and some rather sparkly earrings, red glittery nail polish (Louis may have re-watched his story often enough to have noticed that little detail whilst Harry was gesticulating excitedly), and a ruffled pastel-pink top with a high collar. He is so so so beautiful and him saying Louis’s name sounds so good Louis wants to live in that sound. How the _heck_ will he survive actually meeting this man? He’s so far gone already and he only knows Harry through Instagram stories and interviews.

Why do people somehow never include the danger of losing your heart when they tell you about the dangers of the Internet?

 

  
The day Louis first meets Harry in person is a Thursday. He’s exhausted: he’s had about three hours of sleep, and those three hours were anything but deep slumber. It’s Liam’s fault, this time. For some reason, he thought it’d be a cute date idea to go to an animal shelter and take a dog for a walk with Zayn. And maybe it is. Nevertheless, now they have adopted two dogs and Liam kind of freaked out a bit because the two are coming home in three days and _how exactly do I take care of a dog, Louis? How do I even train a dog? Zayn and I both have jobs that take us around the world this was a_ horrible _idea!_

If Zayn and Liam could stop having spontaneous ideas that would make Louis’s life a lot easier, but alas, no such luck as it seems.

Now he’s sitting in the waiting area of some rather expensive-looking boutique Zayn apparently owns (he owns like three boutiques but Louis has only ever been to one of them once. Usually he forces Zayn to do the fittings at Zayn’s apartment if they’re ever doing fittings — for suits and the like —, which, really, isn’t all that big of a deal since half of Zayn’s apartment is pretty much just a place for his creative forces, featuring outfits he designed and work areas and a lot of drawings and canvases and also some poems he sometimes writes. Louis has never read any of them, actually. He knows Liam gets turned on by Zayn reciting his poetry and that’s enough imagery to steer clear from Zayn’s poetry forever).

He’s got a cup of English Breakfast tea in his left hand and is playing on his phone with his right, and one should think maybe that would make Louis feel more awake, more comfortable, choose your fighter, really — and maybe he spends too much time stalking his fans on Twitter, if only to laugh pathetically whenever they point out he’s actually following Harry and sometimes likes his pictures, so _is it time to speculate?_ (and of course that’s been going up since Harry said he’ll design outfits for Louis, his fandom is nothing if not attentive) — but the truth is: he feels neither more comfortable nor more awake.

And the only reason he’s actually _early_ instead of late is because a snarling Eleanor stood in front of his door at arse o’clock in the morning, ushering him along and driving him here herself. She’s also the one who got him the tea, but luckily she’s pissed off again by now and is probably spending her time brooding in her office. Louis and her really don’t get along on most days. The only thing they have in common is that they’re both gay and that they think Zara is an absolute sweetheart. And really, Eleanor might look all friendly and soft and brown-haired Barbie on the outside, but sadly she’s the devil. Maybe that’s a bit harsh, but Louis has worked with her for years and they still don’t really get along, so there’s that. He knows he can rely on her though, and that’s _something_ at least, isn’t it?

  
Instead of Eleanor, Liam and Zayn are around. Liam as his bodyguard, Zayn as his stylist, but they both act a lot more like the useless best friends they are instead of successful individuals with successful jobs and a respectable amount of money. Or well. Zayn has money. Liam has a rather average income, and Louis would have upped that long ago, but sadly he doesn’t have much say in these things and Eleanor thinks it’s really not justified since nobody has ever posed a real threat to Louis. He sees that differently, but apparently crowds of thirteen-year-olds are not a threat.

  
Right now, Zayn and Liam are enamouredly snogging in a corner, which is either better or worse than what they did before, Louis hasn’t decided yet. At least they’re not domestically talking about how to raise their dogs anymore, which is a plus, really, but then again now they’re _snogging_ so ... hm.

He’s quite glad they’re not paying him attention though; he feels out of place here anyways: it’s an incredibly noble boutique with high ceilings and fancy looking victorianesque furniture. The colour palette is pretty much restricted to pastel greens and yellows, beiges and whites, with some flicks of gold. It’s not where Louis would have spent his time usually, and then there’s the fact he’s about to meet Harry, so this? Is as bad as it gets.

He’s not sure why the boutique looks like this anyways. Yes, he knows, high fashion demands a certain _look_ , but he knows for a fact this is not very Zayn. Zayn’s other boutique he’s been to, a small one in New York, screams graffiti and street style and how to look rich but _cool_.

Maybe Zayn has chosen three different styles for his three boutiques though, maybe the third is all white and modern and sharp edges, who knows. Louis doesn’t. He’s just some pop star with a love for track suits, over thirty different pairs of trainers from mainly Adidas and Nike, with dark shadows below his eyes who’s wearing dark blue Gucci sweatpants right now. And a black tank top with a rainbow coloured skull on it, because maybe, just maybe he knows how much Harry adores Gucci and maybe, just maybe his closeted self is not above at least _hinting_ at his sexuality.

He feels very on edge, which is why he nearly spills his tea all over himself the moment the door bell rings. Louis doesn’t think he’s ever whipped his head around this fast in his life: he had chosen a chair with its back to the glass door as to not check for Harry arriving every thirty seconds, which had proven to be a lot more strategically unwise than he’d thought, making him feel a lot more fidgety than he’d felt anyways.

Now, he’s full on staring at Harry. Who is even more gorgeous in person than he is on a screen or pictures, how is that even allowed. Louis’s heart might just stop beating any moment, because Harry is looking sinfully good in his black skinny jeans and ruffled silk shirt with _rainbow leopard print_ — honestly, Harry? — that’s got buttons all the way down. The top three are left open, revealing Harry’s beautiful, beautiful chest. Louis kind of wants to lick it. He also wants to lick Harry’s neck, and pull on his curls he’s left flowing open over his shoulders. No human being should look this good, really.

“Hiiiii,” Harry grins, dimples on full display, waving the ring-adorned hand that’s not currently holding a black Gucci handbag, and oh, this is bad, so very bad. Louis can feel his knees getting week, and he’s _really_ thankful he’s sitting down at the moment.

He manages a quick hello and is already starting to question how to get through this damn day, but gladly Zayn comes to his rescue, unfairly handsome angel in skinny jeans and oversized yellow shirt that he is, standing up and getting engulfed in a hug from Harry pretty much right away.

Louis feels a bit jealous.

“Nice to see you, lad,” he says, dishevelling his currently green hair with his left hand.

This seems to be the clue for Liam to stand up as well, immediately getting greeted by a hug and excited sounding “You must be Zayn’s boyfriend then!” by Harry.

Louis raises his eyebrows just a little bit. He hadn’t taken Zayn for the talkative type, but when it comes to Liam he’s a huge sap, so Louis probably shouldn’t be surprised.

And then, well, then it’s _his_ time to stand up and greet Harry. His knees still feel a bit wobbly, a fact that really, really isn’t helped by Harry engulfing Louis in a hug right away. He’s tall, taller than Louis had imagined, and feels firm and manly and good against him. He smells a bit like citrus and and rose petals and Yorkshire tea, and Louis kind of wants to marry him and get fucked raw against a wall by him at the same time, which, honestly, is _not_ the right train of thought for this situation, not that Louis is surprised by his thoughts. Well. Maybe not by his wish to cover Harry’s neck in marks, but definitely by the overwhelming desire to mark him as his with a ring and wedding certificate. God, he needs some serious help. Maybe a week in an asylum for the mentally ill, that could get him back on track.

Harry sadly, _sadly_ lets him go again, takes a step back and eyes Louis up and down. “Oh, I can _definitely_ work with that,” he murmurs lowly, biting his lips.

For a moment, Louis thinks _is he actually checking me out?_ but then he remembers it’s Harry’s job to design outfits for him and. Yeah. He probably should stop projecting his wishes and dreams onto Harry, who might even have a boyfriend, a fiancé, who knows. It’s not like he shares a lot of informations about his personal life on Instagram, it’s mainly just him talking about design and fashion stuff Louis doesn’t understand and showing his two cats off, Tabby and Clara.

Harry looks directly into his eyes and winks, honest to god winks, before ushering Louis into the back of the shop, where he’s apparently already stocked some design ideas and his measuring stuff. (Louis really, truly has no idea how any of this works. He’s got a handful of proper suits made by Zayn and honestly, he tries his best to talk Zayn out of getting him a new suit for every suit occasion. He either re-wears his old ones or shows up in track suits or jeans and gives Zayn heart palpitations. And Eleanor. But her heart palpitations aren’t nearly as fun, because they always end up with her screaming hysterically and Zai calling him sounding very distressed, because, who would have thought, being married to the devil isn’t nice when said devil is mad at Louis. Zara just wants Louis to not act like a complete asshole. Louis just wants to not have to wear formal outfits.)

As it turns out, Harry has actually got some ideas and designs and outfits that aren’t _completely_ un-Louis.

Louis’s favourite is, of course, the simplest outfit: some velvet sweatpants in a deep purple-ish tone with a simple armless black v-neck shirt that feels very, very soft indead. They fit a bit loose, despite Zayn having given Harry some rough measurements, and Harry seems to think it’s a travesty, but Louis actually likes that they fit loose.

“Listen, Harold,” he says, which earns him a pouting “My name’s not Harold!”, trying to not ruin his hair with his hands but ultimately failing because having the personification of beauty in front of him makes him nervous, damn it, “I know you like everything to fit perfectly but I _like_ my clothes loose.”

 

“I know. But listen, Louis, I’m a designer, and you’ve got that _perfect_ bum, don’t hide it in your clothes, accentuate it!”

Louis kind of ... stares for a moment whilst Harry is blushing furiously.

“Perfect bum, yeah, H?,” he says, grinning, his stomach fluttering in all kinds of ways. If Harry likes his butt, he should touch it. Like, yesterday.

“From like a ... designer point of view. A designer’s dream bum,” Harry says, his voice even slower than usual. For some reason, that does things to Louis. God, he could probably come from just listening to Harry talk in that deep, gravelly voice. In fact, he knows he can because he once jacked himself off to Harry guest-speaking on Nick Grimshaw’s radio show, which is truly not his proudest moment, and a deeply inappropriate thought at this very moment.

Time to focus on the situation at hand. He raises his eyebrows sceptically at Harry, who’s still looking red in the face but seems very composed again by now.

“Anyways, I’m your designer Louis, and I say we’re fitting those sweatpants better. They’re sweatpants, they’re still gonna be loose, just not _as_ loose.”

“I’m pretty sure _you_ being _my_ designer makes you kind of obligated to do whatever I want,” Louis says, desperately trying not to let it show that Harry bossing him around makes him feel really, really hot all over. God, _please_ let Harry be into dirty talk in the bedroom, because Louis kind of desperately wants Harry to use Louis for his own pleasure, boss him around, tell him what a _needy_ —

His thoughts get interrupted by Harry saying: “We could just ask Zayn for a third opinion, you know he’d agree with me.” He’s fondly rolling his eyes at Louis who _still_ feels hot all over and really wants to be fucked. But he’s in a work environment and Harry most probably isn’t into closeted singers who only have their butt going for them. If he even is into men at all.

“He’s probably got Liam’s tongue down his throat,” Louis says, and Harry laughs.

“You know, you could be murdering me in here for all they know and my body guard is busy feeling my stylist up, I really lucked out.” Harry laughs louder, laughs until his laughing dissolves into giggles, holding his side teary eyed. Louis is giggling kinda uselessly too, and he really wants to get Harry’s laugh on tape and kiss him until their lips are numb. This is the first time they’re meeting and he’s so far gone already. Harry’s definitely gonna break his heart, and the man probably won’t even notice.

Suddenly, Louis feels kind of jealous again of what Liam and Zayn have, how easily they fit together, how they’re just _right_ and don’t even question how quick their relationship is progressing now that they’ve finally gotten their shit together.

  
His thoughts get interrupted once again, this time by the little bell signalling someone’s entered the boutique.

He hears Zayn say “Sorry sir, we’re closed today,” before: “Niall?”

“That’s right, ye suckers! I’m here to bring Harry lunch,” he hears a familiar Irish accent say.

“Niall!” Harry grins, dimples on full display as he marches into the front area of the shop, Louis following him dumbly.

In the entrance area, group-hugging Zayn and Liam whilst holding a big container of food, stands Niall Horan, world-famous chef with a three star restaurant in Mullingar and his own tv show. Louis has never met him in person, but he knows from a source (Zayn) that he’s Harry’s best friend. Niall and Liam know each other too, have in fact known each other for roughly four years, and Zayn has met Niall once or twice. Louis never has, but he’s eaten at Niall’s restaurant once and loved it. He also watches Niall’s tv show religiously. It’s really fun seeing Niall shout, swear and grin at people all at the same time.

Just as Liam and Zayn let go of the Irish man with the badly-dyed blonde hair, Harry swarms in and starts hugging him tight. Niall laughs and pats him on the back with the hand that’s not holding the food container.

“One could think you haven’t seen me in years, Haz,” he grins as Harry lets go of him, both beaming.

“Soo,” Louis says, “why exactly are you bringing Harry food?”

Niall just beams at him, stomps over to him and hugs him too. “You must be Louis, then! Heard a lot of yer songs, they’re great, mate!”

“Thanks,” Louis says, a little bit overwhelmed but also smiling. He likes Niall. He really does. Niall-in-real-life is even more fun than Niall-on-a-screen, just as Harry is a _lot_ more attractive than he is on Louis’s phone display. It’s unfair, honestly.

“I’m staying with me financée, actually,” Niall blabbers excitedly, “and apparently I always cook too much when I wanna woo someone, so I brought Harry leftovers! No way in hell I’m cooking the same thing twice for Shawn, we just got engaged, I can’t let me game slip before we get married, yeah?”

Niall talks ... a lot. And fast. In a thick Irish accent. And. “ _Wait_. Shawn as in Shawn Mendes?” Because Shawn and Niall have been papped a lot together recently. There has been some speculation but to be completely honest, Louis always thought Niall was as straight as they come. Apparently his gaydar needs a work-over.

“Yes, that Shawn!” Niall beams excitedly. “We met a year ago and immediately hit it off!”

“He means they met at one of my concerts and fucked in the toilets,” Harry supplies unnecessarily.

“Bugger off!” says Niall, hitting Harry with the food container. “He was a right sweetheart, we met each other as often as we could, he proposed to me three months later without us having specified we’re even dating prior, I said yes, he moved in with me and I named a dish after him! We’re marrying next spring, wanna come?”

“What,” says Louis, who’s just a little bit lost. Harry snorts to suppress his laughter, but it doesn’t really work.

“Bugger off!” Niall says again, hitting Harry with his food container once more. He’s beaming though. “It’s a proper love story and you have no reason to be mean about it!” Louis isn’t sure he’s ever seen someone be so upbeat, and Niall doesn’t seem fazed in the slightest as he shows off his engagement ring. Then he hands Harry the container of food.

“I’m off again, Shawn’s waiting, we gotta use his free week, see ya!” And with that he whirlwinds out of the door.

“So,” Harry says, grinning his dimpled grin that makes Louis feel very, _very_ week in the knees, “Now you’ve met my best mate! You’ll probably see some more of him, he follows Shawn like a lost puppy when he’s not working, and always stops by if they’re somewhere close to where I’m staying.”

“Okay, Haz. Are you hungry or can I drag your lazy ass back to work?” Louis teases. He’s still a bit overwhelmed, which is mostly caused by Harry’s sheer presence, though. He’s also relieved that Niall, who is awfully familiar with Harry, seems to be very happily engaged. Otherwise he’d be really jealous right now, since Niall’s energy level just _fits_ with Harry’s, but a close friendship he can deal with.

Not that he’d have any right to not be okay with anything else, but Harry. _Harry_. He’s beautiful, talented and strong and looks like he could fuck Louis against a wall, but he’s also giggly, cute, and a ray of sunshine in absurd but weirdly fitting clothes, and Louis kind of wants to ask him to marry him right here and now. He’s truly so, so lost.

“Yeah, let’s get back to work, I have this amazing ruffled silk shirt I really want to show you,” Harry beams, his slow, deep voice sending shivers down Louis’s back. Yeah, he’s so fucked.

 

  
By the time Louis gets home, he kind of wants to hit his head against a wall. Okay, not really. What he really wants to do though, is to not speak to Zayn for at least a week, since this wanker is completely at fault. And he knows Zayn didn’t mean to make Louis’s life harder. He just got drunk with some fashion friends, as Louis knows by now, and that apparently made him think of Harry and Louis’s obsession. He still doesn’t know how Zayn got the idea to _tattoo Liam’s fucking name on himself_ , but then again Zayn doesn’t know either because he has a black out about that part of the night so they’ll probably never figure it out.

Liam spends the evening trying to cheer Louis up by sending him pictures of the dogs he adopted and is going to bring home soon, and it kind of works because they’re absolutely adorable and Louis honestly wants to cuddle them forever. Their names are Maeve, a female Irish Wolfdog, a huge beautiful girl with grey fur and really beautiful grey eyes, and Loki. Loki is a husky-chihuahua mix and basically looks like a miniature husky. Louis immediately falls in love with him and tells Liam that he’s fired if he’s not bringing both of them to work every single day after he gets them.

Louis doesn’t even care that Eleanor has a dog hair allergy. Or well. Maybe he does care and it’s part of the reason he really wants Liam to bring the dogs to work. Even though El will make his life a living hell and Zai will probably be calling him sounding distressed again, asking him to be a nice friend just once and not be hard on her wife.

Well, it’s not Louis’s fault Eleanor’s kind of an asshole. And sometimes they do get along, and he even gets her birthday and Christmas presents every year and congratulates her on her and Zai’s wedding day. So he really shouldn’t be blamed for asking his bodyguard to bring an animal he knows she’ll react allergic to to work. Hey, she doesn’t even show up on most days, just coordinates stuff from her office, so he’s not ready to be blamed before anything’s even happened.

  
He sighs and puts his phone aside. He wonders if Harry likes dogs. He knows Harry likes cats since he owns two, but does he like dogs? Do his cats get along with dogs? And does he rather like smaller or bigger dogs? Louis can really imagine Harry with a cute little white Havanese, cuddled up on the sofa. Going for walks with Harry in the spring, a wife fluff ball jumping excitedly around them. Their dog animatedly running behind a toddler who’s trying to play football —

At this point Louis stops his own thoughts violently. He’s known Harry for a _day_. He’s not going to imagine raising a family with him like a lovesick teenage girl! He should really get his shit together, because at this point it would probably turn him on to imagine Harry wearing an engagement ring Louis put on his finger.

Actually, that’s a really lovely image. Harry’s big hand with a beautiful engagement ring on the ring finger, slowly dancing over Louis’s skin, gripping his cock. Harry’s beautiful, beautiful lips sinfully slowly forming the words “Harry Tomlinson”.

Louis stops himself right then and there. He can feel himself getting hard and the last thing he needs right now is to jack off to the thought of being engaged or married to Harry. Because he’s pretty sure that’s extremely weird and even if for some reason he had any chance with Harry, _this_ would destroy that chance in zero point five seconds if Harry ever found out about it.

 

  
Louis and Harry don’t see each other for exactly four days. Louis has no idea what Harry does in these four days, but it seems to be a lot of working because he only posts something to his Instagram story once and that’s his beautiful hand petting a black cat, with the caption _my beautiful princess Clara._ Louis thinks it’s incredibly adorable and does definitely not get jealous of Clara getting Harry’s touch and attention. That would be completely ridiculous, after all.

 

  
When Louis sees Harry again it’s at Zayn’s. They’re in Zayn’s living room, Zayn comfortably laying on his huge black sofa, Liam half draped over him, Loki hopping around excitedly and Maeve napping in a corner. Louis has only known the dogs for a few minutes but he’s already completely in love and ready to give his life for them.

He’s sitting on the floor and trying to pet the over-excited chihuahua mix when the doorbell rings. He gets up because he’s the one closest to the door, and also because Zayn looks like he’d murder him if he dared to make Liam stop touching him. Which Louis could, technically, because Liam might love Zayn but he’s also like an overgrown puppy, eager to please whoever has a command for him. Louis got scared people might use him when he first got to know him, but re realised relatively early on that Zayn might not be the most present person but the most dangerous ones are always the ones you don’t suspect and Zayn is the danger lurking in the shadows, ready to make everyone suffer who dare not treat Liam right.

  
Naturally, Louis gets week in the knees immediately as soon as he’s opened the door and laid eyes on Harry, who’s truly too gorgeous for his own good. He’s wearing black skinny jeans, glittery boots and a short armed pastel green blouse that makes his eyes shine even brighter. Once again, the top three buttons are opened, leaving all of his arm tattoos and part of the butterfly tattoo on Harry’s stomach on full display, which Louis might know already because he might have several pictures of Harry shirtless in his photo gallery on his phone. Not that that anyone’s business.

Harry’s hair is held back with a black headscarf and he’s wearing dark pink lipstick and earrings with small emeralds on them, and Louis wants to climb him like a tree.

Instead he hugs Harry, breathes in his heavenly scent and then steps aside to let Harry into the apartment, where he’s immediately assaulted by a very excited very small dog and a far less energetic but still excited very big dog.

 

  
They spend three hours bickering over outfits Harry wants to put Louis in; Louis doesn’t say no to a single one because he could never hurt Harry like that, but he does whine a bit about some of them. His personal nightmare is an indeed very comfortable dark blue maxi skirt with a golden print on it accompanied by a white silk blouse with golden embellishments and dark blue buttons. It does look good but he can’t go on stage in a fucking skirt, for fuck’s sake. The media would have a fucking field day and Eleanor would chop off his head and use it as her new door knob. Actually, maybe it would be worth it just for Eleanor’s reaction, but he’s definitely not gonna wear a skirt just to spite her, so he tells Harry the skirt is gonna have to be changed into pants. Zayn has an unfairly cheerful expression on his face throughout the whole conversation, the twat.

  
After Louis has tried on everything Harry brought with him, stuff from last time he wanted Louis to try on again so he could see if the fit was better _and_ a few new outfits, Zayn orders food from their favourite food delivery service and bullies Harry into staying for food. Okay, actually Louis is quite sure Loki bullies Harry into staying because Harry’s way too fond of the small dog to just go, and that’s something Louis can get behind, even though it’s making his life unfairly hard because a cute guy with a cute dog? _Unfair_. It also answers his unasked question of whether Harry links dogs.

To revenge his brutally murdered heart, Louis gets his phone out and takes a picture of Harry, who just starts giggling instead of being offended.

“Louuuuuuu,” he says, dark pink lips stretching wide wide wide over the drawn out nickname, making Louis’s knees go incredibly week once again, “how’s it fair you take pictures of me without warning me!”

Louis makes a show out of taking a few more pictures, and Harry just giggles more and poses ridiculously with Loki, pouting his lips and throwing his hair over his shoulders, his eyes shining bright, the crinkles by his eyes and his dimples becoming very pronounced. Louis really wants to kiss him.

“You have to at least send me the pictures,” Harry says, grinning up to Louis who’s standing in front of the couch.

“That would require you giving me your phone number then, young Harold,” Louis winks, feeling so enamoured he might die from it. It’s of course complete nonsense; he has Harry’s Instagram and e-mail-address, he certainly doesn’t need Harry’s phone number, but Harry just opens his right hand so Louis can hand him his phone.

One win for Louis, one step down the _Seducing Harry Styles_ list. Not that he actually thinks he has a chance, but Harry’s eyes are so green and his hair is so soft-looking and he smells like coming home and looks like Louis’s hottest fantasy and and perfect future all at once. He reckons he can’t be blamed for swooning every time he so much as looks at Harry.

Harry hands him his phone back and Louis starts giggling as soon as he sees the contact name, his giggles transforming into a full belly laugh rather quickly.

“Saviour Of My Wardrobe, really, H?” he asks, wiping a tear from his left eye.

“The one and only,” Harry says, spreading his arms, causing Loki to shift unhappily in his lap.

“He kinda is,” Zayn remarks off-handedly.

“Oi! Traitor!” Louis says, poking him. Liam, who’s still sprawled over Zayn, reacts by shielding Zayn with his body and fighting Louis off, which causes Louis to huff indignantly.

“And here I thought you were supposed to protect me, not that rat.”

“I’m off duty,” Liam shrugs, grinning up at him. Next to them Harry collapses in a fit of laughter and Loki flees the couch, seeking Maeve who’s sleeping like none of this is concerning her in the least. It probably isn’t, but it’s still remarkable how at ease she is after having lived at Zayn’s for just a day.

 

  
At the end of the day, Louis goes home with a list of outfit ideas Harry has sprung on him that he wants Louis to look over and give honest answers to (as if — if he were being honest he’d say “please just buy track suits, hiring you was Zayn’s idea”), Harry’s phone number, a lot of dog fur on his shirt and jeans, and a disconcertingly malfunctioning heart. Maybe he should see a doctor about his heart forgetting that seeing Harry does not need to be treated like doing exercise. Or maybe he just hasn’t exercised in way too long and should remind it what a quicker heartbeat is actually there for.

He waits exactly five minutes before he texts Harry the pictures of him and Loki. Four of them are spent debating whether or not he should add a caption that might make it necessary for Harry to respond. He settles on _Don’t worry, you look like a frog in all of them_. Which is true. Harry also looks like the love of Louis’s life in all of them, but he’s not gonna tell him that.

He doesn’t even notice he’s been trying to hypnotise his phone into doing something with his eyes until it pings and there’s a new message from Harry, a simple _I’m still cute though_. Which is true, but Louis is not about to tell him that.

  
He’s just about to answer Harry when he gets the notification that @ _Harry_Styles_ has posted a picture on Instagram. It’s one of the pictures of him and Loki with an artsy black and white filter and the caption _Do you think Zayn would mind me stealing his dog?_

Louis snorts and comments _Not if I steal it first_ and it only takes Harry a few seconds to like his comment and answer _We can co-own it_. Louis stops breathing, his heart beating so fast he thinks it might jump out of his chest. He takes a few jittery breaths, then slowly types out _It’s staying with me though, I don’t trust cat owners_.

Then he pulls up his text messages and quickly denies Harry’s cuteness. He closes his eyes, breathes in and out slowly. His heart is still beating rapidly. God, he’s over twenty and an international pop star, why the hell is he reacting like a small schoolboy talking to his crush for the first time? There’s no reason to be this hung up on Harry anyways. Yes, he’s so incredibly charming and has the loveliest laugh and greenest eyes and looks at Louis like his opinions matter and listens to him like he wants to actually understand what Louis is saying and coos at dogs like he’d love to adopt a dozen little fur babies. But he’s also proud to be himself and would probably show his boyfriend to the whole world and likes yoga and kale smoothies. And Louis is closeted and has a devilish PR manager who’ll skin him alive for just interacting like that with Harry on Instagram. Louis is closeted, chaotic, lazy, and spends more time outside the UK than inside it. He can’t cook, forgets to wash his dishes more often than not, and is never on time. His voice still wavers on the first two or three words he says when he’s giving concerts or interviews. He’s not brave, he’s not perfect husband material. He’s a successful star and he hasn’t got the time for a relationship, especially one he has to hide, and Harry deserves better than that.

So truly, there’s no reason to think about Harry like someone he’d love to date, to spend his future with. If anything, he could have a one night stand with Harry and try to get it out of his system like that. But Harry’s also better than that, so instead he’s gonna befriend Harry and maybe suffer a bit and feel his heart break but in the end he’s gonna get over him, maybe. And he still doesn’t know if Harry’s even single or queer, after all.

 

  
Working with Harry is like Louis’s most beautiful daydream and most horrible nightmare at the same time.

Harry’s outfits are extravagant at best and complete bollocks at worst. There’s two more outfits with sweatpants. Both sweatpants are made out of velvet and paired with simple, soft shirts. One is ocean blue, paired with a sea-themed light blue light grey-ish shirt, the other is black paired with a pastel pink shirt with a floral print. Louis wants to protest the pastel pink shirt at first, but then decides not to, scared Harry might scrap the outfit all together and put him in something that is decidedly not sweatpants instead.

Harry himself is like a storm, rattling Louis’s life at it’s very core; he’s a storm of kindness and gentleness and bad knock knock jokes, sending Louis pictures of his cats at arse o’clock in the morning and inquiring softly about Louis’s wellbeing if he knows Louis has been at a party and hasn’t heard of him since. He calls Louis up just to talk excitedly about an old lady he met who inspired him to do some weird artsy collage and sends Louis pictures of dogs he meets whilst out and about. He’s lovely and beautiful and makes Louis suffer in the most delicate and painful ways.

He’s also a bossy bitch and a diva. It takes him exactly a week to figure out he’s one of the very few people who can get away with bossing Louis around and he shamelessly uses it. He even makes Louis try some fruity cocktail with a lot of alcohol once before putting some weird outfits on him and makes Louis agree to an outfit featuring a maxi skirt in his alcohol-induced state of being. Zayn laughs his ass off about it and even promises to handle Eleanor about it to make Louis actually wear it on stage.

All in all, working with Harry proves to be wonderful, because he actually befriends Harry and Harry is a weird but truly amazing friend to have, but also a nightmare because Harry’s taste in fashion does not match Louis’s, and horrible for his emotional wellbeing because Louis falls harder for Harry with every second spent together, every dumb text message Harry sends him, every endearing picture and video Harry posts on his Instagram story.

So by the time Louis packs all his stuff up for his tour and stuffs his suitcase into the ridiculously big tour bus he actually has completely for himself he’s already in way too deep and has now idea how he’s supposed to manage so much time with Harry by his side. They start with the European leg of the tour first, obviously, and Louis is sure it’s gonna be his death.

 

  
Harry shares a tour bus with Zayn, Liam, Danielle and Jon. Jon is Louis’s main make-up artist, and the tour bus was supposed to be the main styling crew tour bus, but Liam ended up on it because Zayn threw a hissy fit when they told him Liam was gonna stay in the very crowded tour bus with the security staff, and then Danielle did too because she insisted she wanted to stay with Liam and that she didn’t care about being the only woman on a tour bus with bunk beds. Her and Liam have been friends since they were just wee ones after all, and travelling on a tour bus with your childhood best friend is quite a cool thing. Louis can’t relate; as always, he’s stuck on his bus all by himself, even though he’ll probably spend a lot of time over at Zayn’s again or Zayn and Liam at his, like they always do.

 

  
Louis is just in a heated discussion with Harry about whether or not lions and dogs can have babies (they can’t, okay, Louis once had that discussion with Zayn and he looked it up and the answer is _no_ and “maybe there’s gonna be a dog with a genetic mutation that can breed with a lion and we’re gonna have log puppies” is not a valid argument and log is the worst animal name every anyways) when the door to his tour bus suddenly gets opened and Niall marches in, Shawn in tow.

“Oof,” makes Niall and plops down onto Louis’s leather sofa next to Harry, pulling Shawn, who’s holding his hand, down with him, the younger man landing somewhat gracefully in his lap. Louis sends them a questioning look, whilst Harry just stops talking and smacks a kiss to first Niall’s, then Shawn’s cheek, leaving a pastel purple lipstick mark. He’s matched his lipstick to his pastel lilac blouse and boots and Louis is very, very in love with him.

“How’s Louis’s wardrobe coming along, Haz?” Niall asks whilst Shawn nuzzles into him comfortably.

“Ugh,” sighs Harry. “Good, really, but I’m still not done with all the outfits of the American tour leg and haven’t even started on the outfits for Australia and Asia. I mean, I have the basic design ideas down, but. The break between the tour legs is not gonna be a break for me.”

Louis pats Harry’s leg, feeling a bit guilty; after all, it’s his fault that Harry’s in so much stress. Designing thirty four absolutely unique outfits is nothing that’s quickly done. Louis knows this because Zayn once spent a whole month on an evening gown for a client. Twenty-nine days, to be exact. He knows the exact amount of days because Zayn kept complaining about the annoying client and because Liam kept complaining about not being able to get Zayn to relax fully.

“You’re just a slow worker, Hazza,” he chirps him anyways.

“Heeeeyy!” Harry says and hits him over the head. “I could always put you into a rubbish bag with holes, that’s a matter of minutes.”

“I bet I could cut up that bag faster than you and make it look better.” Louis grins and taps against Harry’s nose, who scrunches it adorably. Louis wants to kiss him on his cute little nose, on his inviting-looking pastel purple painted lips. They’re distracting, and the colour is not even half the reason.

“Do you want to put money on that and make me stop the time?” Niall grins at both of them widely. Shawn is looking at him like he’s just had a Nobel prize worthy idea and Louis asks himself, not for the first time, how the fuck they manage to be so dumb but so cute at the same time.

“Definitely,” Louis says, and then adds, a little belatedly, “why the heck are you here by the way?”

Shawn shrugs. “We were in the area. I have an interview tomorrow morning at some small radio channel.”

They’re a weird group; they really are. All that’s missing is Zayn and Liam’s comments or them snogging in a corner, but they’re out with Loki and Maeve. Their group shouldn’t work as well at is does, they’re all completely different after all. But it does, and they fit, and Harry just feels like he’s filled some empty spots Louis didn’t even know were there and all he wants is to have Harry entangle himself into Louis’s life even more and stay there forever. And maybe to kiss him, hard. He tries not to think about it and jumps up instead to go get trash bags.

 

  
Wearing actual Harry Styles outfits on stage is a weird thing. Because on his first concert Louis thought it was gonna be a nightmare. Now he’s seven concerts in and he actually has very mixed feelings. Because the thing is: Harry and Louis, their taste in clothes is like day and night. And Harry’s design aesthetic has nothing to do with Louis as a person. And still: everything Harry designs that Louis wears fits. It always takes him until he’s actually on the stage, singing, to realise it, but every single outfit fits the venue, the atmosphere of the night, and Louis, in a weird way. Sometimes it takes him until after the concert, when he’s going backstage, seeing Harry look at him to realise it; but the way Harry’s eyes light up and Louis can see himself through them for just one moment always does it. It just clicks and he knows the outfit was exactly what the venue, what the crowd needed. What he needed. So it’s okay for him to wear ruffled silk blouses and pastel coloured flower prints. Because somehow, in a weird way he did certainly not expect at all, it’s always _right_.

 

  
Louis’s tour bus door opens and Harry bursts into his bus.

“Louiiiiiiis,” he sing-songs excitedly and flings himself into Louis’s arms, sitting down in his lap, sloppily pressing a kiss to his cheek. His cheeks are reddened and his eyes are a bit glazed over and a few curls are clinging to his sweaty forehead. Louis heart beats so fast it might jump out of his chest any minute, and he wants nothing more than to just kiss Harry senseless.

“Why are you drunk without me,” says Louis, because whilst _Why are you drunk at 3 p.m._ might be the better question the next concert is tomorrow and the whole crew got today as a day off so he’s not about to judge his designer.

“Perrie’s idea!” Harry says excitedly, and before Louis can answer that the door swings open again and Zayn, Liam, Danielle, Perrie and Jade fill the bus. Perrie and Jade are part of Louis’s team, somewhere in pr or management or advertisement, maybe. He’s not sure. He doesn’t do an awful lot with them, but he likes them and Perrie and Zayn are actually good friends.

Zayn and Liam occupy the sofa together with Harry and Louis and the rest place themselves on the ground. It’s looking a bit uncomfortable to be quite frank, but then again all of them except for Liam seem drunk so Louis just doesn’t question it.

“Perrie and Jade invaded our tour bus and made us do a drinking game and then decided it wasn’t fun without you,” Liam explains and Louis grins. Their in their mid twenties and playing _drinking games_ , really? But he’s also so very on board with that and way too sober to deal with a tipsy Harry nuzzling into him happily, so he doesn’t say anything.

  
“I’ve alcohol,” slurs Perrie and starts handing out a bottle of vodka, a bottle of Jack Daniel’s, a bottle of coke and plastic cups.

“You’re not drinking?” Louis asks Liam, because that seems like a reasonable question. Whilst Liam doesn’t do heavy drinking and is the most responsible in their group, he still does drink again since he found out he actually has two working kidneys again a few years back.

“Nah, not feeling like it,” answers Liam. Louis nods.

Harry nuzzles his face further into his neck, sending shivers down Louis’s neck ever time Harry breathes. It’s incredibly distracting, and Harry’s arms being slung around him, his body being pressed close doesn’t help either. Louis needs to get a lot more drunk before that’s even the slightest bit of okay.

“What kind of drinking game are we playing anyways?” he asks whilst Zayn hands him the bottles and the stack of plastic cups.

“Never Have I Ever!” Perrie announces happily. Louis raises his eyebrows but doesn’t dare to say anything because a drunk Perrie should not be messed with. She might be tiny, but she’s just as fierce as he is and Jade and Dani will definitely back her up. Harry too, probably. And Zayn doesn’t look like he cares, so questioning Perrie will get Louis absolutely nowhere.

“You should maybe get out of my lap for this one, Haz,” Louis says, and is relieved and weirdly disappointed at the same time when Harry actually does and gets himself a plastic cup and a drink. He should probably focus on the relief, though, because a drunk Harry in his lap will in no way be good for Louis’s feelings or self-control, which don’t look to good to begin with.

It’s not his fault Harry’s this cute, though, and his rosy cheeks just make his eyes shimmer even more. And his pink lips, a bit wet from his drink, are so, so distracting. He’s also only wearing tiny tiny shorts he probably found in the women’s section and his shirt is kind of see-through, with the top three buttons undone again. Louis wants to rip that shirt off him and map every single one of Harry’s tattoos with his tongue, but that thought is truly inappropriate and he still doesn’t know if Harry’s even single. Not that he should care. There have been no hints at a relationship so far at all since he’s known Harry, but maybe he’s in a long term relationship or he’s trying to keep it secret because the guy’s nor outed. That’s a very reasonable possibility. _Or maybe he’s straight_ , his brain supplies helpfully, but Louis really doesn’t think so. Harry makes too many comments to not at least be bi.

He tries to shake the thoughts off and instead looks expectantly at Perrie, trying to ignore the way Harry’s thigh is pressed alongside his. He fails, of course, but it’s the thought that counts, isn’t it?

They don’t start innocent or easy. Where would be the fun in that, after all? If you’re an adult paying silly drinking games you should at least skip the shame, or something. Louis isn’t quite sure. He’s also not quite sure where the fun for Danielle is in all of this; she outed herself as asexual to him like a year prior. He knows the others know, too, he’s actually pretty sure even Harry knows. So Danielle’s pretty much just here to get drunk, for their dirty secrets and the socialising aspect, probably. Maybe not the worst thing that could happen to one in a game of _Never Have I Ever._

“Never have I ever,” slurs Perrie and raises her plastic cup, “had public sex.”

“What counts as public?” questions Liam, but Zayn just looks at him with raised eyebrows and then he shrugs and raises his cup, filled with just coke, and they both drink. Louis doesn’t. Neither does Harry. Jade looks like she wants to drink her whole cup. _Well, here we go,_ Louis thinks. _At this rate, I’m gonna be revealing I’ve never had sex with a girl in half an hour, tops._

It’s okay, he reckons. Zayn, Liam, Danielle and Perrie know he’s gay. Jade probably knows too or at least suspects it. And he kinds wants Harry to know, if he’s being completely honest. Wants to see his reaction. Even if he has promised himself not to start anything with Harry, even if he has a chance. He’s just not good for Harry.

  
It takes them exactly seventeen minutes to get to the question that ultimately reveals it all.

“Never have I ever,” says Danielle, sticking out her tongue at him, “giving a blowjob and enjoyed it.”

Zayn, Liam, Harry and he raise their cups almost simultaneously. That answers the question about Harry’s sexuality, then, and Louis find himself not surprised at all. Perrie lifts her eyebrows at them.

“You actually enjoy doing that? I might be bi but I’ve never seen the appeal, honestly,” she says.

“Giving blowjobs can be really fun,” Louis says, and next to him Harry, who’s been staring at him with bulking eyes since he raised his cup, chokes on his drink. Louis smirks at him and winks, but then Harry finds his ability to speak again and now Louis is the one choking.

“It’s about seeing how much the other person enjoys it, feeling them shudder on your tongue. Slowly getting them worked up until they can’t hold back anymore, until they’re a shivering mess.” He speaks low, slow and deliberate, drawing out the vowels. He’s looking Louis into the eyes instead of Perrie and Louis feels himself growing hard.

“I think that’s enough,” Liam says a bit disbelieving whilst Perrie is giggling into her cup. Louis doesn’t know if he should be thankful or sad, but most probably thankful.

Zayn whispers something into Liam’s ear Louis can’t quite make out. He’d bet Liam is turning tomato-red, but he’s not willing to take his gaze away from Harry who’s still looking at him kind of intensely. Louis wants to climb into his lap and grind down, wants Harry to push him down and show him exactly how he can use his pretty mouth. He swallows, hard, and finally turns his gaze away. Zayn is still whispering into Liam’s ear, but so low Louis can’t even really make out his voice, and Liam is turning redder and redder and then suddenly jumps up.

“Sorry lads,” he grits out, “but Zayn and I really need to go _right now_ ” and then proceeds drags Zayn out by the hand who just looks incredibly smug.

Louis rolls his eyes. “Couples, ugh,” he complains.

“I don’t see the problem,” Perrie grins and intertwines her fingers with Jade’s.

“I like couples,” Harry says, “I’d like to be in a couple”, and Louis freezes. Harry’s still pressed alongside him and looking at Louis with his green, green eyes and Louis wants to scream and kiss him all at once. So Harry is single then. And would like to change that. Louis wonders if there’s anyone on the crew in particular Harry would like to date, and feels jealousy swell up in him.

_Calm down, Tommo. It’s fine. You don’t own him, he’s free to date whoever he wants._

“Ohh, I don’t know,” says Dani, “I quite like being single. Nobody trying to pressure you into sex because they realised they couldn’t do without it after all, despite them promising it’s fine over and over again.”

Harry’s attentions shifts to her in an instant, and a second later he’s stood up and has draped his long limbs all over her and is hugging her and telling her how wonderful she is, how men trying to pressure her into sex don’t deserve her at all. Louis is kind of ridiculously in love with him.

 

  
Two hours later Harry’s the only person who’s still there. Jade and Perrie have wandered off, maybe to find Leigh-Anne and Jesy, maybe to fuck in a deserted corner, who knows, really, and Danielle wanted to call a friend who’s apparently knee-deep in wedding preparations and needs some emotional support.

Louis is sitting on his couch, Harry next to him, leaning heavily against him.

“You’re so nice, Lou, and you smell really good,” he mumbles and Louis’s traitorous heart beats faster. _He’s drunk, he probably doesn’t even mean it_ , he reminds himself dutifully.

“You’re really nice too, Harry,” he says softly, and then adds: “I don’t know how you smell, a bit unfair, innit?” It’s a lie, of course; he has memorised Harry’s smell by now. But it’s also an excuse to bury his nose in Harry’s hair, inhale Harry’s scent deeply. Louis could stay like this forever, but. But.

“You smell quite alright, young Harold,” he says and Harry giggles.

“You’re cute and your cheekbones are _ridiculous_. You’d make a beautiful design project,” Harry slurs. Louis blinks slowly. He opens his mouth, closes it again. When he looks at Harry again, still working on his answer, he sees that Harry’s eyes are closed. The small huffs of breath against his neck are calm too. He’s fallen asleep. Louis decides not to wake him up, but to use the chance and instead nestle closer into Harry’s body. He’s glad Zayn and Liam can’t see him, because he’s sure Zayn would tease him and Liam would have some ridiculously soft and helpful advice Louis really doesn’t want to take. Maybe he should try recruiting Niall as a new best friend, with a bit of luck the guy’s too oblivious concerning Louis’s feelings to ever comment on them.

 

  
He doesn’t even notice falling asleep, only realises it must have happened when he awakes several hours later. The tour bus is moving, his neck and back hurt severely, indicating a very unhealthy sleep position, and Harry’s draped his long limbs all over him. A look out of the tiny window tells Louis that it’s apparently night, because it’s pitch dark outside. Well then.

“Harry,” he says and starts gently shaking the man awake, who sleepily opens his eyes.

“Wha?” Harry manages, sounding confused.

“You can’t hold your liquor and fell asleep in my tour bus, princess,” Louis teases and grins softly.

“Heeeyy,” Harry makes and pouts, “maybe that was my plan all along! How would you know!”

Louis laughs, looks at him and hopes his love for the younger man is not written as clearly on his face as he feels it. “Wanna move some place more comfortable? I’d leave you on the sofa but I need your designer brain in top shape if I want to look good, and my looks are important.”

Harry laughs. “Does that mean I get the bed? I’m sure your majesty needs it too, though.”

“It’s king size, we’re sharing,” Louis offers.

  
And that’s how he finds himself in bed with a half naked Harry Styles ten minutes later. He closes his eyes, trying to blend out Harry’s presence and trying to bury the wish to cuddle up to Harry. It’s gonna be a long night.

 

  
By the time he wakes up in the morning, Harry’s already gone. He’s left a little note though, saying _Thanks for sharing your bed! I could always make it up to you by treating you to brunch, princess. xxx H_

He’s drawn a little sunflower on the note and Louis is so very endeared.

He smiles helplessly and texts Harry. _So, about brunch, Haz: My stomach is demanding attention !_

It takes Harry only a few seconds to text back, like usual. His answer is just a picture of a cozy looking café that screams Hipster. Louis loves him.

 

  
It is a well-kept secret that Zayn has a little vacation house in Italy. A very well-keep secret, actually. Louis knows, though, and he is the one who’s responsible for convincing Zayn to do a very small, main crew only party between their two concerts in Italy. The house is kind of situated perfectly and they have the time because Louis made sure fairly early on that the tour allowed for him to have a bit of free time and explore the countries he’s staying in.

So they’re doing a party two days before Louis’s concert in Rome.

It’ truly incredible how Louis’s own ideas are always the ones that fuck him over the most, and maybe that should tell him something about himself, but he’s not bothered looking into that yet. He is a famous pop star after all, he has a lot more pressing problems.

  
Louis is one of the last people to arrive at Zayn’s, which might or might not be due to him taking nearly two hours to decide in which skinny jeans he wants to show up. It’s a party, he’s a gay man, he’s got to bring some attention to his glorious arse, thank you very much.

Harry’s already there, of course, dressed in unfairly tight black jeans that showcase his strong muscular thighs, excitedly talking to Jade in a corner, sipping some pink fruit cocktail thingy with an even pinker glittery umbrella in it. Louis briefly wonders if Zayn has hired a bartender or if Harry has actually mixed himself a fruity cocktail, before he sees Niall floundering through the room, holding two more of those fruity cocktail things and handing them to Shawn before wandering off again, presumably to get himself a beer. That might explain it, then. Harry has already told Louis several times that Niall’s cocktail mixing skills are legendary, but Louis had no idea Niall would be here. He wonders what he and his fiancée are doing in Italy, of all places.

  
It takes Louis the courage of exactly two beers and four shots to go over to Harry. He would have gone over sooner, but tipsy Harry is prone to cuddling and Louis’s self control is nearly inexistent so he convinces himself he’s better off making fun of Zayn and having drinking contests with Niall. After the fourth shot Niall excuses himself though and saunders off to tell someone about his and Shawn’s love story and he doesn’t come back quickly enough, so Louis’s drunk brain has enough time to think it’s a _terrific_ idea to go over to Harry and chat with him. Which he does.

Tipsy Harry smiles a fully dimpled smile at him, drapes his left arm around Louis’s waist and lets his left hand rest on Louis’s hip. He is red-cheeked with shining green eyes and loose curls that cling to his sweaty forehead.

He giggle a soft “Louuuuu” into Louis’s cheek and taps his nose with his right finger, because his hands are so ridiculously huge that he doesn’t need all his fingers to hold his cocktail glass, and Louis feels very soft and very turned on all at once.

“You, young Harold, are a menace,” he says, and Harry just giggles harder.

“And you, old man, aren’t daaaaaancing with me,” he complains, poking Louis’s left cheek.

“You should know that I’m doing the both of us a favour in not letting you onto the dance floor,” Louis tries to say earnestly, but his grin is betraying him a little bit. His gaze wanders off, along the dancing people on Zayn’s dark hardwood floors, resting for a moment on the graffiti artworks on the white walls, the hugeness and airiness of the living room space that is only occupied by a sofa, a tv and a huge stereo. Usually, there’s a table for eating in here too and Zayn’s e-guitar, but these things have been moved because of the party. Louis’s gaze wanders back to Harry, who’s staring at him intently, still giggling.

“My dance moves are greaaaat, let me show you pleasee!” he insists, drawing the vocals out in a fully endearing way, and Louis shakes his head lovingly but at least manages to talk Harry into dancing outside, in Zayn’s lovely huge garden. The music is a bit quieter there, but most importantly there’s fewer people, and Louis actually doesn’t mind Harry’s stupid way of dancing, but what he does mind is people seeing him lose his mind over this tall, long-limbed boy and so they decide to go outside. Or Louis decides, Harry’s just happy Louis agreed to dance.

The moment Harry puts his arms around Louis’s waist, swaying uncoordinatedly to the music, so very close to Louis’s body, having lost his cocktail on the small garden table, Louis realises that this was a dumb, dumb, _dumb_ idea. One of his dumbest, actually.

How is he supposed to resist Harry when he’s so close and smells so good and is grinning so sweetly and Louis’s mind is all kinds of fuzzy? This was a horrible idea.

But there’s music playing, and _I just wanna watch you when you take it off_ , and Harry is rubbing against him, breath hot on Louis’s neck, and Louis gets hard, so hard.

 _Push me up against the wall, don’t take it easy_ , and Louis doesn’t have control over his hands, they slide along Harry’s sides, and his left hand is suddenly below Harry’s shirt, and Harry’s right hand lets go of his waist and slides down and grabs his ass, hard. Louis gasps and pushes against Harry, and something in his mind is telling him that this is a horrible idea, but he’s hard, and he pushes a bit harder, and _oh,_ Harry’s also hard.

“Louis,” Harry whispers, no giggles left, his voice low and hoarse and so, so, sinful, and breathes hard again his neck. Then he sinks his lip onto it and kisses Louis’s neck, and Louis fucking _whimpers_. He’s so turned on, all of his senses tingling, his body screaming for more, more, _more_.

“Harry,” he gasps, and then, forming a coherent thought at last, “guest bedroom, guest – _ooh_.” Harry’s lips on his neck just feel so good, and he’s sucking now, but he lets off with a soft, wet noise, which manages to turn Louis on even more, his cock straining uncomfortably against his jeans, and then Harry’s nodding frantically and Louis grabs his wrist and leads the way to the guest bedroom upstairs that he vaguely remembers from the one time he’s stayed here so far.

Something in his mind wants to tell him why all of this is a horrible idea but he doesn’t have time for it, just wants to get Harry naked, and then they’re in Zayn’s guest bedroom (or at least Louis _hopes_ it’s one of the two guest bedrooms and not the main bedroom, he doesn’t really remembe the interior) and Harry is pushing him up against the wall and all of Louis’s thoughts scurry away and there’s only _Harry_ and _yes_ and _more, please, more_.

Harry’s mouth finds Louis’s and his lips are sinful, and when Louis opens his mouth and Harry slides his tongue into his mouth he nearly moans again and yes, more of that, please.

Harry is an excellent kisser, but Louis is hard and needy and just wants Harry to touch him, really. Which is why he whimpers “more, please,” and helplessly pushes up against Harry, who reacts by letting go of Louis — which is wrong in so many ways — but then unceremoniously strips off his shirt and wriggles out of his jeans, and apparently he’s gone commando under them because he’s standing in front of Louis stark naked and Louis didn’t know he could get any more turned on but here he is. He moans. Harry’s cock is beautiful and pink and so _big_ and Louis isn’t sure if he wants it in his mouth or in his arse, probably both. Just the thought of Harry filling him up with that beautiful, beautiful cock makes his mouth water and hole throb.

“Off,” Harry commands, disturbing his thoughts and ripping at Louis’s shirt, and that, Harry commanding him, is so incredibly hot. Louis hopes Harry’s into dirty talk because Harry’s low voice telling him what to do sounds _so good_ right now.

He complies immediately and scrambles his shirt off, just to get his hands on Harry, and he wants to admire, wants to admire everything about Harry so badly and take his time exploring Harry’s body, but he also needs to touch this beautiful man right the fuck now, so that’s what he does, feeling Harry’s soft skin under his sensitive fingers.

Harry has his own plans though, apparently, because he pushes Louis off, pushes him around and onto the big white bed with the pastel yellow coloured sheets that’s standing in the middle of the average-sized room. It’s a beautiful room, all white and modern edges with a big surrealistic painting of a sunflower hanging on the left side wall and a huge window right over the bed that looks out onto the street. The blinds are closed now though, and there’s far more important things on Louis’s mind than the room’s aesthetics, like Harry climbing on top of him and claiming his mouth again, for example.

Harry’s naked penis is pressing against Louis’s clothed one and it feels so good but it’s also not enough, he needs more friction, needs more Harry, needs his pants off and Harry touching him, fingering him, inside him now.

Harry’s mouth wanders, he sucks alongside Louis’s jaw, his lips playing with Louis’s very slight beard, then wandering over to his neck, sucking right below Louis’s ear and he fucking _keens_ , just everything about this feels so good and he helplessly bucks his hips up, presses himself closer to Harry, and fuck, the rough material of Louis’s jeans has to hurt Harry’s sensitive cock but he can’t stop searching for friction and —

And then Harry’s left hand lands confidently on Louis’s hip and holds him down, and Harry handling him like that is so hot but Louis also needs the friction, needs it so bad, and he gasps Harry’s name and “please” over and over again, but Harry just keeps sucking on his neck, slowly wandering down, over his collarbones, leaving a wet trail on his chest, reaching his left nipple, slowly circling it with his tongue. Louis is moaning, and he _knows_ he is loud right now but he can’t stop the sounds spilling out of his mouth, and then Harry sucks on his sensitive nipple, biting it and he cries out, gasps loudly.

“Harry, more, please, more,” he begs desperately, not even caring how desperate he sounds, because he _is_ desperate, so much more than he’s ever been in his life, and he tries bucking his hips up again but Harry is still holding him down.

“Relax, baby,” Harru murmurs against in his skin in that low, rumbling tone, “I’ll take care of you.”

Louis feels so turned on he’s not sure he’s not just gonna come into his pants at this point, his cock hurting where it’s enclosed by the unforgiving jeans material.

Harry’s now kissing down Louis’s stomach, until his mouth finds the waistband of Louis’s jeans, and then finally, finally does Harry open the zipper and take Louis’s pants and underpants off, who helps by lifting his arse.

He sighs with relief when his cock springs free, and then Harry’s skilled mouth is back, peppering kisses onto Louis’s hipbones, sucking, and Louis moans and begs because he needs, needs it so bad, and why won’t Harry just _touch him_ where he needs it the most?

And then suddenly, there’s the wet heat of Harry’s mouth engulfing his cock, and Louis screams just a little bit.

Harry’s just licking the head of his cock, slowly dipping his tongue in the slit, before he takes Louis all in, the head of his cock hitting Harry’s throat, and all he can do is whimper a warning “Harry” before he’s coming, harder than ever before.

He blacks out for a second, and when his vision comes back, his mind still feeling dizzy, everything a bit fuzzy at the edges, and he’s honestly not sure if it’s the alcohol or his orgasm. Harry’s towering over him, looking at Louis with so much feeling in his eyes that Louis wants to cry a little bit, even though he’s sure that that’s just his imagination, due to the alcohol.

“Was that okay, baby?,” he asks, and there’s a dribble of cum on his chin, and before Louis can think about it he pushes up a bit and licks it away.

“Very,” he mumbles, “let me —” and then he’s grabbing Harry’s cock, jacking him off slowly and deliberately. There’s nothing more beautiful, nothing hotter than Harry closing his eyes and moaning as he leans into Louis’s touch. Nothing more beautiful than Harry’s face as his orgasm rolls over him, and Louis is so very in love but also very drunk and sleepy, and so he doesn’t complain when Harry collapses on top of him, nuzzles his face into Louis’s neck. Truth be told, Harry might be very heavy, but there’s nothing better than being engulfed by his long limbs. Louis feels secure with him, and happy, and falls asleep feeling like he’s right where he belongs.

 

  
Louis wakes up with a headache, a weird taste in his mouth and someone heavy draped all over him and grossly stuck to him. There’s not that much light coming into the room because of the mostly closed blinds, but it’s enough to see everything vaguely.

He blinks several times and then looks up to the person laying on top of him. Soft skin and dark tattoos and chocolate curls — he knows that person. He blinks again.

Harry. He’s got Harry Edward Styles on top of him, and they’re naked and stuck together with cum. The memories of the last night come rushing back and Louis groans lowly. Oh fuck. Oh _fuck_. Of course he had to sleep with one of his best friends, his designer, and the guy he’s been in love with since he first saw him smile. This is a fucking catastrophe and it’s his own fucking fault and Harry was definitely not drunk enough to have a blackout today and they’ll be working with each other for the rest of the tour.

Louis hates himself.

Harry stirrs on top of him and bloody hell, there’s no easy way to get out of this one.

Harry nuzzles his nose closer into Louis’s neck before he stirrs again and slowly opens his eyes, blinks up at Louis.

“Lou?”

“Uh-huh,” Louis makes.

 _What do I say now, what do I say now?!_ , his brain screams, which is not helpful in the slightest. How does he explain to Harry that he was drunk and stupid enough to sleep with Louis? Oh fuck, will Harry regret ever starting to work for Louis? Louis kind of feels like screaming.

Thankfully, a loud crash and scream from the room next to them saves him the embarrassment of having to say something about this situation. Harry, golden boy that he is, is of course up in a second, scrambling to put on boxers, and is out of the door, calling “what was that? Are you okay? Can I help?”. Louis wants to bury his head in his pillow and never open his eyes again. Instead he uses the chance to get up and flee.

He quickly gathers his stuff (minus his boxer briefs, since Harry managed to put on Louis’s instead of his own, and plus Harry’s boxer briefs since he doesn’t feel like going commando under his jeans) and puts his clothes on whilst scrambling out the room, hopping down the stairs.

The living room looks kind of trashed, littered with rubbish and a snoring Niall, who’s draped over Zayn’s couch. Liam and Shawn are sitting in the kitchen, which opens directly into the living room, no door separating the two rooms. Shawn looks like he’s been run over by a truck (therefore pretty much how Louis feels) whereas Liam actually looks refreshed and happy. Louis is not about to question that. Instead he calls a quick “Hi and bye!” and flees out the front door, already dialling his driver’s number.

Fleeing might not be the correct way to go about this, but he’s not going to have a conversation with Harry about how this meant nothing to Harry and was a stupid mistake whilst he’s hungover and has Harry’s come stuck on him. No way.

He does feel bad about not helping Zayn and Liam clean up, but then again if Zayn asks, Louis can always order a cleaning service.

 

  
He doesn’t talk to Harry until later that day, around five o’clock; he was kind of hoping that maybe they’d just forget this ever happened, that Harry would never inquire about it and Louis could just pine hopelessly and use this night as wanking material for the next ten years or so. Of course, his life never happens the way he intends it to, so at five o’clock sharp he hears a knock on the door of his tour bus.

He sighs, opens it, and sure enough has Harry standing in front of him, curls looking a bit wild, wearing black skinny jeans and some washed out Bon Jovi shirt. Louis falls in love with him just a little bit more.

“Hi,” he says, dreading the conversation they’re about to have already, stepping aside to let Harry in, who hugs him first, then enters the tour bus. Louis wants to cry a little bit, because of course, _of course_ Harry’s still that lovely cuddly hugs-for-greetings person, even when things are awkward. And why can’t Harry just share Louis’s feelings, why can’t Louis be boyfriend material? Because their night together was spectacular and just _looking_ at the tall, curly-haired man Louis wants to put a ring on him and get fucked by him hard into the mattress all at the same time, wants Harry to tell him he’s gonna _take care_ of him again and mean it in a sexual as well as in a I’m gonna marry and look out for you for the rest of our lives sense.

“Hey Lou,” Harry says, his hands fidgeting, and he’s looking a bit uncomfortable now and also very exhausted; he’s very pale and has deep shadows under his eyes, and Louis is so so sorry and just wishes he’d never been so stupid as to indulge into Harry’s drunken want, because clearly Harry regrets it and Louis is so not ready to hear him say so.

“Do you want to sit down? Have something to drink?” Louis asks. Liam would be proud of him, he thinks, finally finding his good manners and all. Who would have thought that all it needs for Louis to be a gentleman is a one night stand with his crush and uncomfortable morning (or rather: afternoon) after talk.

“Uhm,” Harry makes and sits down. He goes through his wild curls with his right hand, and Louis hates how awkward he looks. Because Harry should always look right at home in Louis’s home, tour bus, whatever, and _fuck_.

“So,” Louis says.

“So, about yesterday?” Harry looks up at him with tired green eyes and Louis wants to cry. He’s not going to, but he feels like it.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps, “you were drunk and I was drunk and I get you probably didn’t mean to and my behaviour was inappropriate and for all it’s worth, I do regret it and I hope we can forget about it and act like we did before? When I get drunk I get horny and I hadn’t slept with anyone for quite some time because as a closeted pop star, you know — I’m sorry, you probably don’t care, and it’s not your fault you’re gorgeous and I’m dumb.” And oh great, he actually told Harry he’s gorgeous. He should probably stop before he tells him he wants to suck his dick kind of badly.

Harry is looking a bit gobsmacked and also sad, so very sad, and Louis _made him sad_. He hates himself. So much.

“I’m sorry,” Harry says slowly and quietly, “we can of course forget about this, and I’ll not tell anyone, I’d never out you.”

And oh. Louis didn’t even think about that. Somehow, the idea of Harry outing him was never a possibility he considered. Good Harry cleared it up anyways, probably.

Then Harry’s standing up, his eyes shimmering as if he’s about to cry, his mouth in a sad line, and he stammers a “see you” and is out the door before Louis can say good-bye.

Louis stares dumbly at the grey-ish metal door. His eyes start prickling with tears. This is it, then. The final proof it actually was a dumb mistake to Harry and he’s sad it happened and probably glad to forget about it. Great.

He takes out his phone and types in Liam’s number. Right now, he needs someone who will listen to him complain and hold him and not judge his tears and not say a word if Louis asks him too. And who can keep quiet about it all. And he loves Zayn, he does, but he doesn’t wanna hear that he’s an idiot. So. Liam it is. And he’d better bring his dogs.

 

  
Surprisingly, life falls into a routine again fairly easy. Harry doesn’t mention The Incident, Louis doesn’t, and by the time his European tour leg is nearly over they’re back to their familiar bickering and friendly cuddling and Harry fussing over his wardrobe and telling Louis exactly what he thinks about his track suits and Louis telling Harry that a golden ruffled blouse and white skinny jeans with a golden floral print are an absolute No Go and then wearing them on stage anyways, not forgetting to tell the crowd to thank Harry Styles for the atrocious outfit, which is of course met with fans shouting they love the outfit and fans shouting they love him and fans shouting they love Harry. And yeah, he can agree with the last one, really.

 

  
For the last show of his European tour Harry actually makes him wear the skirt he drunkenly agreed to. It’s a long black silk maxi skirt, and it’s matched with an ocean blue crop top that has black hems, and Louis tells Harry vehemently several times that he will not wear this before Zayn tells him to man the fuck up and stop whining and just do something courageous for once in his life, which: rude, Louis has done several courageous things in his life and the first of them was letting Zayn befriend him, thank you very much. Turns out befriending Zayn was also a mistake but what can you do, really.

So he goes on stage, wearing a fucking black skirt and blue crop top (that does actually make his eye colour pop, so Harry didn’t promise too much in that regard at least), and the crowd goes bonkers, of course.

The screams about his outfit are not what capture his attention. What does capture his attention is a big sign that says “LOUIS + HARRY = GOALS” with a selfie of Harry and him below it, one that clearly stems from Harry’s Instagram story (he uploaded it three weeks ago with a black and white filter and the caption “My new best friend, sorry Niall”, which Louis knows because he still stalks Harry’s Instagram religiously). Right next to that sign is another one that says “I SHIP LARRY STYLINSON” and oh. That’s new. Louis feels his face slip for a moment, but then he tears his eyes away. He knows his fanbase invented a ship name for Harry and him after the _let’s steal Ziam’s dogs_ incident, but he didn’t know there are people seriously believing they’re a couple, and he imagines it for a second, what it would be like to be together with Harry and _out_ , what it would be like to tell the world Harry is _his_.

He doesn’t let himself linger on the thought.

He takes the microphone and greets the crowd with a “Harry’s styling ideas are growing wilder every day, do you think I could get away with murder because his outfits are harassment?”

His fans, of course, think the outfit is great. For one moment he is so incredibly proud of them, so happy about how tolerant they are. Then he actually greets them and starts the concert.

 

“I want you to know this is a safe place,” he tells them after the last song has ended. “I always make fun of Harry’s outfits, but I want you to know this is a safe place, and you can be who you are when you’re here. I may not like wearing skirts and crop tops, but if you do, and you are male or non binary or whatever you identify as, that’s valid. Everyone likes different stuff, yeah? And my likes should never affect yours. When I make fun of Harry’s outfits, that’s because I’m kind of an arse. But I want you to know me wearing them also means that I’m okay with them, and I am okay with them because every outfit is valid, every person is valid. Every sexuality and gender is. You are you, and if you like skirts, wear them. Thank you for listening, and thank you for making this possible, and please go home tonight and remember you can kick ass, yeah. Fuck everyone who thinks you can’t. I love you.”

He heads the crowd cheering, and he grins for a moment, happy and exhausted, and then he leaves the stage.

Harry is waiting for him backstage, along with Zayn and Liam, and he’s crying, actual tears streaming down his face.

“I love you, oh my God I love you, the world doesn’t deserve you,” he whispers, and then he’s throwing his arms around Louis and engulfing him in kind of a whole-body-hug, and Louis wants to cry too because he wants Harry to say these words and mean them, to actually love Louis as more than a friend. But. He shouldn’t be greedy. He should take what he gets, and what he gets is a third best friend who’s got the biggest heart Louis has ever seen and deserves the universe, so Louis wraps his arms around Harry and holds him close, and if he enjoys the hug a bit more than a good friend should, well, nobody has to know.

“I love you too, Haz,” he tells him. “I’m so proud to call you my friend.”

And Harry holds him a bit closer and sobs loudly.

 

  
Being home in his house in London after a tour is always weird, and being home for only one and a half weeks before the next leg of the tour starts is even weirder. Louis is not complaining, though; he loves London and he loves just relaxing for a few days just as much as he loves touring, and he’s glad to have some time to himself. He video calls his mother on the first day back home and she scolds him for not calling sooner, for not coming by for a day or two, and he promises he’ll come home soon and that he’ll send her and his siblings tickets for his New York show and buy the flights. It’s kind of a routine; whenever he’s touring they come to his New York show.

That’s because the first time he ever entertained a huge crowd, it was in New York, as a pre-act, and of course back then his whole family flew in, so it became a tradition, and he loves it, to be honest.

He changes the topic as soon as his mother starts inquiring about Harry — because she knows him, and because she knows Harry is Louis’s type and also that Louis has been stalking his social media for years. And there are things she doesn’t need to know, for example that at this point he is actually so deeply in love with Harry he has no idea how anyone can look at the man and not stop breathing, and also that he dreams of Harry’s huge, heavy cock in his ass.

He makes his sisters talk to him too, and scolds Phoebe and Daisy about using make-up and tells Fizzy that he’s absolutely not fine with her growing up so fast and tells Lottie that Harry is even hotter in person, and that no, he won’t introduce him to her so she can drool over him (he’s done enough drooling for the two of them anyways).

After talking to his family he allows himself to wallow a bit in his self pity because he misses them so damn much, and then he re-watches _Grease_ to forget his feelings. That always works like a charm. Who needs reality based feelings when you can fall in love with Danny’s and Sandy’s love.

 

  
It’s day four of his break and Louis is lounging around in sweatpants and an oversized tee-shirt, marathoning _Friends_ , when the doorbell rings. Only a few people have his security code and live in the area, so it’s most probably either Zayn, Liam or Harry. Maybe Niall and Shawn, but Niall tends to forget the code and would have called Louis to let him in if it were him.

Louis gets up lazily. He’s showered yesterday evening so he knows he smells okay-ish, and his shirt doesn’t have stains on it, so it wouldn’t be the biggest catastrophe if it were Harry. He’s seen Louis in sweatpants a million times by now.

Louis opens the door, and sure enough, it’s Harry, grinning broadly, his curls hanging into his face a bit, wearing a pastel purple blouse and matching lipstick, his standard black skinny jeans and some glittery boots. He’s holding two bottles of wine in one hand and a big Tupperware container in the other and Louis remembers those big hands holding him down. He spaces out for a second, looking at those big hands, holding two bottles with no problem whatsoever, and Harry’s beautiful cross tattoo, and thinks about how good Harry’s long fingers would feel widening him up, slowly making room for his long, thick cock —

“Hi, Lou,” Harry grins and Louis snaps out of it a bit guiltily. He promised Harry he’d be okay at being friends with no sexual history or possibilities, and having wet dreams about him and wanking to the memory of Harry sucking his dick is one thing, but fantasising about him when he’s standing in front of him is something different entirely, and Louis should fucking get it together.

“Harold,” he grins, and lets himself be engulfed by a quick hug before he lets Harry in. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” he teases.

“I made way too much pasta and since you’ve probably been intoxicating your body with fast food only the past few days I decided to share,” Harry tells him happily and hands him the Tupperware container and wine bottles before stripping off his boots and black cloak.

“What you’re saying is, you miss me horribly and used the first lame excuse because we both know my fast food is better than your cooking,” Louis says, which is of course a lie; Harry’s cooking may not be on Niall’s level, but he’s still a fantastic cook and Louis loves everything Harry has ever produced, and that’s not just because he’s so deep up Harry’s arse he’s lost the way back out.

“Keep dreaming,” Harry tells him and starts looking through his cupboards until he finds a pot in which to warm up his pasta.

To be honest, it smells amazing. Harry has brought tagliatelle and some kind of vegetable sauce and Louis wasn’t quite aware of how hungry he is until now.

He busies himself with staring at Harry’s glorious muscular arms and dreaming about being held down by him whilst Harry prepares the table, fills wine glasses and takes care of the food. Louis has never been good in the kitchen, okay, and letting Harry do all the work is probably the safest bet. He’s also been extremely turned on since Harry set foot in his house and stopping himself from kissing Harry and rubbing up against him until he comes is hard work, no pun intended.

He spends the meal decidedly _not_ staring at Harry’s beautiful lips and the way his adam’s apple moves as he swallows whilst Harry talks about some super cute kitten that needs a new family he found on Facebook the other day, and how maybe it would get along with his cats, and wouldn’t that be cute to add the little white kitty to his kitty family.

And because he needs to distract himself from how _good_ Harry looks and from how he remembers exactly how Harry’s lips feel stretched around his cock, he drinks three glasses of wine during their meal. By the time they finish eating and Harry starts putting the dishes in the dishwasher, Louis has opened the second bottle of wine.

“Wanna stay and watch a movie?” Louis suggests, and maybe the wine was a bad idea.

“Yes! Dirty Dancing?” Harry asks, already moving to the living room, turning Louis’s tv on and looking through Netflix before he can even answer. And this, this is so dangerous: Harry making a place for himself in Louis’s life, just fitting perfectly, being everything Louis needs and more. How _right_ he seems right here, in Louis’s living room, on his expensive leather couch, curls tucked loosely behind his ears, the front buttons of his blouse open so Louis can see the butterfly tattoo if he looks a bit more closely than he should. And fuck, he remembers how that butterfly feels under his finger tips, remembers the bits where the tattoo didn’t heal that perfectly and the skin is a bit scarred because Harry’s shit at putting research into tattooers and shit at taking care of his tattoos. He wants to touch it again.

 

  
“C’mere,” Harry says as he starts the film, patting the couch, and Louis plops down next to him and lets Harry put an arm around him and press him into his side.

He leans his head on Harry’s shoulder and tries not to think too much about how cuddly Harry is and how much he loves body contact and how he surely wouldn’t be acting this way if he only knew how Louis feels about him.

Louis is loosely holding the second wine bottle in his left hand, because who needs glasses when you can drink straight out of the bottle (and he’s so not doing this sober), and his right thigh feels like it’s on fire where it is pressed against Harry’s.

  
He lets his right hand fall onto Harry’s left knee about twenty minutes into the film, because at this point he’s very tipsy and couldn’t care less and more body contact seems like a splendid idea, and he feels Harry press into his touch and strengthen his hold on Louis’s shoulders and yeah, yeah that feels good. He snuggles more firmly into Harry’s side and can feel him drawing loose circles with his thumb on Louis’s left arm, right below the shoulder, and he sighs a little bit, which has Harry increase the pressure and yeah, that’s a definite _yes_.

And his brain is screaming _what the fuck are you doing_ but he doesn’t have time for that, starts drawing patterns on Harry’s thigh and wandering a bit higher with his hand. It takes everything in him not to go and feel Harry’s crotch, because Louis has been half hard since he saw Harry standing in the doorway, long fingers wrapped around the wine bottles, and he kind of wants to feel Harry’s dick up. He honestly just wants to _touch_ Harry, and that is probably so very, very wrong, but it’s not his fault Harry’s this fucking attractive.

He takes another big sip from the wine bottle and then puts it down onto the ground before snuggling into Harry a bit further and going a bit higher with his right hand. And Harry hums slowly and lets his hand, that has been drawing circles onto Louis’s arm up until now, sink down to his hip and grab him. Louis turns his face into Harry’s neck, breathing heavily. He remembers how Harry held him down that one night at Zayn’s and he _wants_ to bad, increases the pressure with which he draws patterns into Harry’s thigh.

Harry’s hand slips under Louis’s shirt and he presses his fingers into Louis’s skin and Louis sighs a breathy “Harry” and then suddenly he can feel Harry turning, and then Harry’s grabbing hold of his shoulders and pushing and Louis’s back hits the sofa hard and then there’s Harry’s heavy weight on top of him, Harry’s right hand grabbing his cheeks and their lips are clashing together and Louis moans.

Yes, _yes_ , this is what he wants, what he needs —

He helplessly pushes his hips up into Harry, can feel himself growing completely hard, and the friction when their crotches rub together is delirious, and there’s a heavy bulge in Harry’s crotch and _yes_.

Louis helplessly rubs up against him whilst kissing Harry hard, and this feels _so good_ , so good, and Louis needs more, _more_.

He doesn’t even notice he’s whispering soft pleas into Harry’s mouth until Harry pushes himself up on his hands and looks down at Louis and softly asks, “What? What do you want, baby?“

“You,” Louis begs, pushing his hips up again, and then: “Harry, please — please fuck me.”

Because yeah he’s kind of drunk and Harry’s at least tipsy and somewhere deep down he knows this is a dumb idea but he’s been dreaming of Harry fucking him since he first saw a picture of him. And right now, all he can think about is how badly he needs Harry’s cock to fill him up.

“Fuck, Louis,” Harry groans, and then he’s stripping down his shirt, pants and boxers before helpings Louis rip off his, throwing them onto the ground, and when Harry’s naked body sinks down onto Louis’ again, their erections touching, Louis can do nothing but push up against the friction and moan.

“Please, Harry please,” he whimpers, and then Harry’s reaching down between them with a hand, rubbing it softly against Louis’s hole, and Louis is whimpering again.

Harry pushes up and commands, “turn around” and Louis complies happily. He can feel and hear Harry getting up and is about to complain, but then Harry’s sitting down on his legs and he can hear a bottle being opened and oh. That makes sense.

Louis has never been more thankful than he is in this very moment that Zayn makes sure he keeps hand lotion on his sofa table (because according to Zayn, artist soul that he is, beautiful hands are the most important thing and he will not stand for Louis completely disregarding the needs of his).

Then he feels two hands kneeling his ass, pulling his ass cheeks apart, and he sighs softly. This already feels so good, but he needs Harry in him right the fuck _now_ —

And then a cold, wet finger is stroking his hole and enters him, and Louis lets out a relieved sigh, because _fuck, yes_.

Harry’s finger pushes in and out slowly, and Louis needily pushes up against it.

“More, more, give me a second,” he pleads.

“You’re always complaining, aren’t you, even during sex,” Harry teases him, a small laugh in his voice, but also something akin to wonder.

“And you’re always an asshole, nothing new, but I need you in me like, five minutes ago, so do something about it,” Louis hisses, and Harry is giggling above him and peppers a few soft kisses to Louis’s shoulders (and for a moment, just a moment, he asks himself if this is what it would be like if this actually _meant_ something to Harry, but then he stops that train of thought because he does not fucking need emotions, what he needs is a good dicking).

Harry finally complies and a second finger enters Louis’s hole, stretching him more, and Harry slowly pushes them in and out, takes his time massaging Louis’s walls and scissoring his fingers slowly whilst Louis pants and tries to push his hips up into the touch and down to get some friction from the couch cushions at the same time. His dick hurts and humping the expensive sofa cushions is something he’ll probably regret in the morning but he doesn’t fucking care right now, and then a third finger enters him and it feels so good, so good, but Louis just wants Harry’s cock, really.

And Harry is still kissing his shoulders, but he’s also crooking his fingers just _so_ , and Louis fucking keens as Harry’s fingers press against his prostate, massaging it slowly.

“Your cock, I need your cock, please Harry, please just fuck me,” Louis begs, tears in his eyes from how much he needs this, not even caring how desperate he sounds because he _is_ desperate.

“Condom,” Harry says, “we need a condom, Louis.” And his deep voice sounds so good, wrapping around Louis’s name. He kind of wants to listen to Harry saying his name forever but. More pressing matters at hand.

“Nightstand next to my bed, lowest cupboard,” Louis says, and Harry’s gotten up before he’s completely finished the sentence. Louis starts missing the fingers in his now incredibly empty feeling hole immediately.

The minute it takes Harry to go get the condom feels like the longest minute in his whole damn life, and then Harry’s finally back and he can hear the condom wrapper ripping and Harry putting on the condom, and he turns his head a bit to watch him and starts salivating a bit, because fuck, Harry’s cock looks so thick and good and Louis just wants it in him, now. And then Harry’s smearing more lube on Louis’s hole and coating his cock in lube and then finally, finally guiding his cock in. And he’s going slow, so slow, to give Louis time to get used to the stretch, but Louis is having none of it and just pushes up against him so hard that Harry’s whole cock slips in, stretching him deliriously. His hole burns from how wide it’s stretched and _fuck_ , Louis has missed this feeling.

“Fucking hell, move, Harold, what are you, sixty,” he says, and he hears Harry splutter a laugh and then suddenly he’s being fucked into the sofa, hard. Harry’s pace is hard and fast and Louis presses his face into the cushions and just moans Harry’s name, just _taking_ it, and it hurts, but it also feels so good, so fucking good.

He can feel the pressure building low in his stomach, his balls clenching, and then Harry stops for a second, corrects his angle a bit, thrusts in again and Louis fucking _screams_ as he hits Louis’ fucking prostate with every thrust. Harry’s already so brilliantt everything else, how is it fair that he’s also a fucking sex god —

And Louis feels his orgasm wash over him with so much intensity, his hole clenching around Harry as his cock paints the sofa white, and then he hears Harry moaning “Louis” loudly before he’s collapsing on top of him.

“Ugh, you’re heavy Harold,” Louis complains half-heartedly, but he doesn’t really mind. Exhaustion is was hungover him, and his eyelids are starting to drop.

“We probably shouldn’t sleep on your sofa,” Harry murmurs into his back as he pulls out, and then he’s actually getting up and Louis contemplates just staying on the sofa for a moment, before he follows him with a heavy sigh, fishing for his shirt and using it to wipe himself clean before tossing it away again.

They both walk over into Louis’s bedroom, Harry throwing the condom into the rubbish bin, before they’re nestling into the comfortable blankets. Louis cuddles up to Harry, who wraps his long arms around him.

“Night Haz,” he murmurs, deciding to deal with this tomorrow because right now he’s way too comfortable and exhausted to think about the fact that he did it again, fucking hell, and then he’s closing his eyes and can feel himself drifting off into a deep sleep.

 

  
The morning after is less weird than the last one was, for some reason.

Louis wakes up to Harry being up already and having made breakfast and tea, and they just eat in companionable silence before Harry brings up the topic by apologising.

“I knew we said to forget about it and all, but I was kinda drunk and you were touching me and my body remembered you, and — I’m sorry, really, Louis,” he says, looking at him out of sad green eyes.

“Nothing to apologise for,” Louis says, “I mean maybe you forgot the part where I begged you to fuck me,” and here he grimaces because fucking hell, why is his mouth always faster than his brain, “but it’s equally my fault so I reckon it’s best we just put it aside like last time, yeah?”

And that’s that, they eat together and Harry stays until the late afternoon, forcing Louis to watch some cooking show with him and cuddling him as if nothing happened (which Louis’s heart takes as a reason to work itself crazy) before he disappears to work on some outfit.

 

  
The thing is this: it keeps happening. Two days later they’re out with Niall and Shawn, and they somehow end up sharing a taxi on the way back, and then half an hour later Louis is in Harry’s apartment, getting his mouth thoroughly fucked.

A few days into the tour, just after the second show in America, Harry somehow ends up in Louis’s tour bus, snogging him silly before fingering him until he comes.

Just two after that, Louis rides Harry in his locked tour bus mere hours before the show, giving his crew a complete breakdown because he shows up for the first sound check half an hour late.

The morning after that concert, he wakes up to a text message by Harry that says _Maybe we should talk? At yours at noon xx_. Which, he gets that, they probably should.

He also really, really does not feel like talking, because he’s still very in love with Harry and very scared Harry might read his face like an open book if he thinks to ask the right questions.

He won’t get around this one though, so he texts back an _Okay_ after quickly checking the clock. He’s got about forty-five minutes left, which means he should use the time to shower quickly and maybe drink some tea.

After checking his fridge, he also texts Harry _bring breakfast_.

 

  
By the time Harry arrives, Louis has showered, changed his outfit three times, drank four cups of tea and worked himself into a state of mental frenzy.

“Are you okay? You look nervous,” are the first words out of Harry’s mouth, and Louis chuckles and desperately tries to not let the scream of _you're too perfect stop caring about me please marry me_ out of his mouth.

“As okay as I’ll ever be,” he says. “Tea?”

“No thanks, Lou, I — listen,” Harry says, his hands fidgeting, his eyes lowered to the ground, and his whole posture is a bit slumped, making him look vulnerable and unhappy. Louis wants to wrap him in a hug and protect him immediately. “I need to tell you something, and I need you to not shout at me, and I need you to mostly forget about it if possible, but if I don’t say it now I never will, and —”

“Harry, you’re rambling,” Louis interrupts him softly, trying to ignore the fear bubbling up in his inside, the voice in his head screaming _He knows you’re in love with him, he’s gonna tell you this needs to stop because he know he knows he knows_. He briefly closes his eyes. If this is the point where Harry tells him they need to have a strictly business relationship until the end of the tour and then cease to see each other altogether, then he’ll have to deal with it.

“Louis,” Harry says, his beautiful voice shaking slightly, his fingers trembling, “we need to stop doing this. I can’t keep sleeping with you.” Louis’s heart breaks, and he knew this was coming, but his heart breaks and his insides start aching. “I just can’t. I’m in love with you, so in love with you, and I know you don’t feel the same, but I’m not going to get over you if this keeps happening, and I need to get over you, because I like you so much, Louis, and I would love to keep our friendship, if you’ll ever be able to feel comfortable around me again.”

“What,” is the first thing Louis says, because it’s also the first thing he thinks, and then he’s throwing himself at Harry, arms locking around Harry’s neck, frantically pressing himself against that warm, tall body.

“You’re bonkers, absolutely bonkers,” he whispers, “and I’ve been in love with you for ages, and I just. Harry. Harry. If you want to do this with a closeted pop star, you’re insane, but don’t think for a second I’m ever letting you go again.”

And then he starts sobbing, ugly, ugly sobs, and Harry wraps his arms around him and whispers “I’ll stay right by your side as long as you’ll have me” into his ears again and again.

Louis doesn’t think he deserves this. He doesn’t think he cares all that much, either, because if Zayn can make Liam love him more by getting a tattoo of his fucking name, then the universe is insane enough that maybe there’s a place for Louis next to Harry’s cats on his vintage couch in his carefully designed apartment, and he thinks he could bear all that secret relationship shit if he gets Harry out of it.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Some final notes: There will definitely be a sequel dealing with how Harry and Louis handle being in a secret relationship and the topic of coming out, because I don’t feel like their story is finished here. If you’ve actually enjoyed this, I hope you’ll enjoy the sequel too. If you haven’t, feel welcome to leave me constructive criticsm!  
> Also a friendly reminder that English is not my native language and I’d therefore be thankful if you told me if I’ve made any grave grammar/ language mistakes. I’ve edited this completely on my own, so things a native speaker would have noticed might have fled my eye.  
> You can find me on Twitter screaming about our favourite queer pop stars @shipperhell or on tumblr screaming about everything, but mostly ice hockey and Star Trek TOS @deepdowninshipperhell


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